A Concert in the Park
by butterfly'reborn
Summary: The sequel to A Gathering in the Park - see my old profile butterlfy10 for that story, though you can read this one as a stand-alone, too. A concert. A tree at the back. Ranma and Akane alone. Do you need to ask?


This is the sequel to my story A Gathering in the Park (you can find it under my old profile, butterfly10). I rated it because there's slight lime in there somewhere, so beware. Also, a change of point of view was in order.

* * *

**A Concert in the Park**

It's dark. This crazy day is finally ending. I guess I shouldn't be so surprised about the chaos, it's not like it's something new. With Ranma as my fiancé, what else was I expecting?

Of course he got splashed and changed into a girl, of course all those stupid perverted boys tried to ogle and grope him (though I don't really understand why they thought they'd succeed). And of course _I_ had to save him with the T-shirt. And this was just the afternoon: previously Ryoga had showed up and challenged Ranma over who knows what again, my sister had tried to blackmail us into posing for her again, the principal had tried to shave Ranma's hair, Kodachi and Kuno had showed up three or four times (how they come back so quickly after being punted to LEO is also a mystery…) and so on and so on.

So thank god it's finally dark. The concert has started a while ago and Ranma and me are sitting under a tree away from the rest of the students, me between his thighs, my body resting against his chest. I pulled him here because after sharing him with the whole school for practically the entire day, I wanted to have him to myself a little. And I know he doesn't mind.

He still has a funny way of showing it, but I know now: he loves me. He hasn't actually _told_ me and not for lack of trying: between his difficulty with expressing his emotions due to his idiot father's upbringing and our meddling families, at least ten conversations leading that way have been interrupted since the failed wedding. It used to get me so frustrated that I would scream and bash anybody within reach (i.e. Ranma) with my mallet. Then I'd feel horrible and try to apologise to him and he'd just say: "It's ok, Akane. I'm sorry, too," and he would look at me with the same frustration and a certain longing. I couldn't _not_ understand what he was trying to say. And he knows I love him, too.

I remember when he finally got it through to his thick skull (well, thank god it is thick, otherwise I'd have killed him a thousand times by now) that I …

* * *

_It was after another interrupted moment, __when he came back home after being punted to god knows where by none other than me … I was waiting anxiously for him by the window and surely enough he tapped on it, hanging upside down like usual._

"_Hey," he said after I let him in._

"_Hey." Great, Akane, just great. What a lovely greeting to the fiancé you bashed to Okinawa for no reason at all..._

_I sat on my bed and looked at him. He was looking at me through his bangs, scratching the back of his head in his embarrassment._

"_Look, Akane…," he started to apologise, I just knew, so I interrupted him quickly._

"_Come sit here," and I patted a spot beside me._

_He looked at me strangely, unsure of what to do. Of course he is unsure, idiot, after all the times you've called him a pervert only for coming into your room…_

"_Please?" I added smiling a little._

_He sighed (probably deciding that he'd do what I wanted even if it got him malleted again) and sat beside me. The seconds of silence stretched, he fidgeted, I stalled gathering my courage._

"_Ranma …"_

"_Akane …"_

_We spoke at the same time. When he halted, I rushed on._

"_I'm so sorry, Ranma, I really really didn't mean to hit you earlier. I just got so mad at them all and .. ."_

"_I know, me, too," he interrupted me with a hesitant voice, but I went on._

"_... and it's not fair that I take it out on you when it's not your fault … and the only thing I really want to do … I … I just want to be able for once to finish a conversation and tell you that I …"_

_At this point I'm clinging to him almost like Shampoo at her best, my arms around his shoulders and my wet face buried in his red shirt. He's frozen, his hands on my upper arms, barely touching, not daring to hold me, I know. God, how I have mistreated him!_

_I cry harder, for me, for him, for the unfairness of it all._

_And then he hesitantly moves his hands to my back and pulls me to him lightly._

"_You ... do?" he asks with so much hope that I know he is not asking about the conversation._

"_Yeah, I do. A lot." _

_I look up into his blue eyes and I've never seen him so happy. So unconditionally, sincerely happy. I smile, too._

"_Me, too. You don't know how much," he says and my world starts spinning with a new axis._

* * *

And so we're here, under this tree, together, alone. His hands are on my stomach, his head atop of mine. I can feel him nuzzling my hair from time to time. And it makes me shiver. He doesn't ask if I'm cold, he must have guessed it's not that.

His fingers are slowly caressing a sliver of my skin where my shirt has gotten out of my skirt. I squirm a little at the feeling and the shirt moves further up, giving his fingers more room to explore. I didn't mean to, but I don' mind the result. His hands are warm, his skin hard and calloused, yet his touch is soft and gentle.

I sigh with pleasure. I don't think we've had this much time alone together ever. And I fully intend to enjoy every minute of ...

"Is everything ok here?"

Never mind.

Ms Hinako's voice is like a cold shower to both of us. She's in her adult form, I guess she's found some 'delinquents' to drain earlier.

I feel Ranma trying to pull his hands away, but I don't let him. It's so dark that I figure she can't really see us that well. And I don't want to lose the contact.

"Yes, sensei, everything's fine."

"Good, Tendo, good. I'm glad to see you're not causing any trouble, Saotome. Unlike those Kuno siblings I came across earlier. But I guess they won't be disturbing anyone tonight any more" she snickers.

Did Ms Hinako wink at us? I'm not really sure, but …

Yay, she took care of the Kunos for tonight! I guess I should thank her. But she's already quite a distance away. And we're alone again.

Ranma starts relaxing, his back resting against the hard bark of the tree again. I caress his hands on my stomach and start singing along a song that is being performed.

When his hands start to move again I almost gasp in surprise. If earlier his fingers were touching small portions of my skin, now both his hands seem to have somehow ended under my shirt. Not in an improper way (as Kasumi would say), as he doesn't stray neither too much to the north nor to the south, but still his light caresses are lighting little flames where they pass.

God, it feels good! My voice trembles and I have to force myself to keep singing quietly: I don't want him to know how much just these innocent touches affect me. Closing my eyes I sigh between one verse and the other. His chest is so warm, so strong. I can feel his muscles flex as he breaths or moves his body the tiniest bit. I feel like my back is on fire where it is in contact with his chest.

Ranma's lips stretch against my hair. He's smiling. I guess I'm not as good at hiding my reactions as I thought.

So he thinks he's smart, huh? Driving me crazy with these slow caresses, almost as if he was waiting for me to snap and … What? Turn around and kiss him?

* * *

We haven't really kissed yet. No, not even after realizing our feelings for each other. I guess we were too self-conscious or too afraid our families would barge in shouting "wedding!, wedding!". Or any of our friends/enemies, for that matter. Or even Happosai. You never know with us.

So the kiss is still a big deal. It's been a couple of weeks since that day and mostly we haven't had a real moment alone. One that would last long enough and find us in the appropriate mood. We still fight, of course. He is still a jerk a lot of the time and I still have my temper. But, oh well. It's us, right?

*

Does he want me to turn in his arms? Would he like to kiss me?

*

From the slight pressure to my hair from time to time, I guess he would. I know he would. He's been looking at my lips a lot lately. Mesmerised, almost lost to the world. For long, long moments. Leaning towards me slowly, very slowly … Until someone or something interrupted us, of course.

Now, we seem to be alone. The Kunos are out for the night and unless some stranger randomly decides to come and bother us, we should be ok. So why are my hands still lying lifelessly on top of his?

I decide to take a more active role in the whole thing. The song I was singing along to has ended and I don't start singing the next one. I don't believe I could keep the pitch any more anyway.

My fingers start gliding along his forearms, tracing his muscles. These arms have saved me more times that I like to remember, they are so tender now, so gentle.

He is still caressing my stomach, mostly. His fingers graze my ribs and the waist of my skirt, But he doesn't dare go further. I've trained him well, I remind myself wryly. Now that I'd love him to touch me, he's afraid he'll be called a pervert and punted into oblivion if he so much as brushes a forbidden zone.

I guess I'll have to be the bold one. Show him the way. Convince him that I want this, that I want him. And I do.

I'm an eighteen year old woman and I need physical contact with my man, I can admit it now.

Yes, I have grown up a bit since the failed wedding, thank you.

So I move slowly, not to spook him. He gives me a puzzled, almost panicked look but I smile reassuringly. Turning my body toward him a little, I place my right hand on his left knee and push it down gently, so that I can move my legs above it and turn around more. His arms are still around my waist as if he doesn't even remember them there. But when I settle one of my own arms on his shoulder and with the other one I caress his cheek, his fingers start brushing my skin again, more urgently than before. I dare raise my eyes from his chin to his lips, slightly open an so soft-looking, linger there studying the slightly uplift corners and trace my fingers from one corner to the other on the outer edge of the lower lip. My eyes travel slowly towards his eyes and when they get there, his gaze is so intense, so full of emotion that I instinctively hold my breath as I watch his head come closer and closer.

I don't know if it was my lips lifting toward his or his head descending toward mine. I only know it's finally happening and his lips are so warm and yes, soft as I thought, only more insistent, more passionate, and I can't believe we're kissing, really kissing, finally kissing, I've been waiting for this for two?, three?, four? I don't remember how many years, maybe forever and his lips move against mine and I lose myself in the feeling until his tongue - his _tongue_ - finds a way into my mouth and god, why have we waited so long, why? right now I just feel him, feel every ounce of his affection, of his longing and I feel his arms tightening around my body and I feel his hair between my fingers – when have I moved my hand? – and god, I'm probably as red as a tomato but I don't care, I'm kissing Ranma, Ranma is kissing me and god, I feel a bit light-headed, everything's too much, I might even faint but I don't want to stop don't want to stop this feeling kissing Ranma kissing Ranma kissing Ranma kissing...

He lifts his head an inch and I pull a long, much needed breath into my lungs without even opening my eyes. Another breath and I'm kissing him again, this time my mind is a little less frenzied. It's still overwhelming and magnificent and _god, I'm kissing Ranma!_ But I notice more details: one of his hands travelling up and down my spine, the other tangled in my hair as if to hold me there - as if I wanted to go, to be anywhere else - strong but gentle, like the force of his lips over mine, like his tongue battling with mine, nothing like our sparring matches: he attacks and retreats and allows me to attack his mouth in the same fashion as fireworks explode behind my closed eyelids. My hand seem to have a mind of their own, I feel them gliding from his hair to his shoulders, down his strong arms on one side, down his front on the other, I feel the silk of his red shirt and then suddenly one of the clasps is undone - did my fingers undo it? - and I can feel his skin under my hand (he's not wearing his tank top!) and he is so warm and soft and hard at the same time, like velvet over a body of steel, and I'm incoherent again.

His lips lift an inch from mine again, he breaths "Akane …" on them and he shudders under my fingers. Then, as if a dam broke free, his hands start moving with more frenzy, his lips grazing my cheek, my jaw and drawing a damp line along my neck. The hand that was running up and down my back fins its way under my top at the small of my back and his fingers seem to scorch me, only in a pleasant way. The other hand, the one that was tangled in my hair is definitely not in my hair any more.

I knew he was bold, but never in this sense. Not that I mind, not now. His hand on the side of my breast, slowly reaching to cup it, makes me only want to push against it, to make the feelings even stronger. My nipple tightens under his palm and he must have felt it because is fingers immediately go for it and start tugging and kneading it gently.

"Oh god, yes …" a voice I couldn't quite call my own drawls – since when do I have this low, bedroom tone?

Another one of is fastenings is loose and my hand has more territory to explore. I reach one of his flat nipples and try to emulate his movements on me. I guess he likes it, too, judging by his sigh against my collarbone (am I going to have a hickey there tomorrow? not that I'd mind, I am his, after all, he may as well brand me with a line saying _Property of Saotome Ranma_ – and since when am I so acquiescent? me, the '_Men are all perverts, I hate them_' girl? right …).

The next moment I feel his other hand, the one on my bare skin, moving forward just below my ribs, to my front and he's already grazing the lower line of my bra, lingering for a couple of seconds, as if to test my reaction (which is a quickened breath and a couple of sighs, his name in that low bedroom voice that I still don't recognize as mine and not much more - except I'm melting from the inside, but he can't feel that, right?), then cups my almost naked breast. And god, it doesn't seem possible, but the feeling is ten times stronger than through the material of my shirt. His fingers try to find their was beneath the lace, more bold by the second. Or more lost in the feeling. Probably the latter. Just the same as me.

His other hand slides downwards to the hem of my T-shirt, starts tugging it upwards.

"Want to see you …" he breaths against my neck. The coarse whisper seems to slightly startle us both and our hands freeze and he lifts his face to look at me. I absently note that his shirt is completely undone and hanging at his sides, his shoulders slightly bared, one of my hands tracing the line of his collarbone, the other somewhere low, close to the waistband of his Chinese black pants.

I guess I _can_ get even redder. Who would have thought?

He is still staring at me with that slightly apprehensive look, waiting for my reaction. I don't want to think too much about it (except _god, I wish I had worn a button-up shirt today! This is way too complicated!_), so I press my lips to his with all the passion he's inspired and tug the hand that holds the hem of my shirt upwards. He pulls back from the kiss, his eyes widened with surprise and – I guess – awe. But he stops our hands.

I feel the muscles of my body tense. He stopped me … But he said he wanted to see ... And what is he doing now? He's rummaging through our things, looking for something. And I suddenly remember that we're still in the park, the concert's still going on and there are people – _people_ – not too far away. Oh, god, I wanted to strip in the middle of ...

He looks back at me offering me something. My sweater. I take it, confused. Then he grips my hips and turns me so that my front is turned toward his front, my legs at his sides. I'm kind of embarrassed (and a little worried) because the yellow skirt I'm wearing is quite short and this position makes it run even higher, my thighs almost completely exposed, my panties probably visible too if Ranma wanted to look. But he's keeping his eyes on mine with an unreadable look (for me, at least). And I find myself thinking that our 'parts' have never been this close. The thought is scary so I veer away from it immediately and remember the sweater in my hands. He wants me to get dressed _more_? I thought ...

"What …?" I ask eloquently.

He smirks at my confusion, takes the sweater from my hands again and puts it around my shoulders to cover my back, his arms remaining around me in a loose embrace.

"Wouldn't want anyone else to see you," he sais with the smirk still on, but I can tell he is serious about this.

Apparently he hasn't forgotten where we are. Maybe it's because he's turned toward the stage while I'm facing him, getting lost in him. Again. Yes.

Because his head lowers towards mine and we're kissing again and it's every ounce as magical and unbelievable and passionate and erotic and everything as before. Or even more. More erotic, most certainly. Because as soon as we're seriously into the kissing his hand sneaks to the hem of my shirt again and starts tugging it upwards in earnest. I feel the cool night air on skin that is very rarely exposed this way, as he tugs the cotton up to above my breasts. If he wants me to keep the sweater on my shoulders, he can't go any higher.

Pulling away from the kiss, his breath ragged, cheeks flushed as mine, probably, he looks into my eyes searching for permission, I guess, and seemingly finding it (I don't know how I look, but I'm certainly not going to stop him), his eyes travel lower and lower to the curve of my breasts covered in a cute white lace bra. I didn't have this in mind when I chose it this morning but thank god I didn't go with the old plain sports bra as I often do for exercising.

His eyes are hungry, his hands can't seem to find the courage to touch what he has uncovered.

"Flat-chested, huh?" I tease mischievously. It's been some time since that particular insult has come out of his mouth and even longer since I've been really bothered by it. I know now he meant those insults just as much as I meant mine.

His hand had almost made contact with the lace when he stops and looks at me sheepishly.

"I'm never gonna be free of that, huh?" he says.

"Nope, I guess not," I counter but I'm smiling and he takes it as permission to go further. His hands caress me through the lace and a long shiver runs through me from the nails on my toes to the tip of my hair. _Feels soooo good!_

My idle hands return to life and I pull his head toward mine, kissing him for all I'm worth. When he lowers one bra cup and tweaks my nipple with nothing in between I arch my neck, pressing my breast into his palm. His lips trace my jaw and neck down to the upper hem of my tee and I knead the muscles of his shoulders. Skipping the cotton, his mouth heads directly to where his fingers are still rolling my nipple.

I gasp as his lips touch me. I haven't felt anything like this, ever.

"Beautiful," he mouths against my flesh. And I really feel that way, beautiful, maybe for the first time in my life, with his hand and mouth worshipping me, his quick short breaths caressing me, his other hand pulling me toward him, pushing my hips against his ...

Is that …? Oh god! I know I have seen it, seen him. Even more than once. But still ... He's hard. Very hard. _Excited for me?_ the vapid little schoolgirl in me swoons. I feel moisture pool even more in my panties and I'm almost afraid he'll feel the damp spot through his pants and boxers … is that really all that there is between his … you know … and my … _Damn, _I can't even say it in my mind! How stupid can I ...

He distracts me when he lifts my bra over my breasts and bunches it with the cotton of the T-shirt. He's kissing my breasts in earnest now, suckling, licking, pulling, rolling, and my brain is mushy again. Thought is a very overrated thing. Why think when you can feel like this …

His hands – _both _his hands – on my hips awaken me slightly form my Ranma-induced stupor. He's grinding us together, _there._ That feeling of hollowness in my lower abdomen, familiar yet completely different from anything I have experienced on my own, is sending jolts of pleasure to my centre and I can't help but grind against him even more.

Things are going quickly, too quickly, I find myself thinking for a half second, before my hand reaches its destination, the waistband of his pants. I start toying with the strings holding them up and almost without conscious thought I pull at them until they are undone. One of my fingers sneaks down his abdomen, below his navel and slightly under the black material. And it lingers there because I still don't have the guts to go further. We have had our first kiss minutes ago and now _this_? But I _want_ this, _want him_! So why not? I've been waiting for so long ...

One of his hands is caressing the outer side of my thigh, sliding higher and higher, up to the skirt, under it, sliding to the inner thigh skin, caressing me so softly, so gently that my body doesn't seem it necessary to be worried, to stop him.

His mouth is still on my breasts, suckling, licking, pulling, rolling and for a second it's not there any more and I feel his breath cool the wet surface as he breaths something against my skin.

"Love you."

His fingers graze my core through the thin cotton and I explode. Right there and then. I find myself catapulted to the sky, a sharp cry muffled against his shoulder. My hips raise and fall a couple of times in a rhythm I guess I'm not too far from learning for real. Eons pass, or maybe just seconds, I don't know. All I know is nothing will be the same any more.

As I find my breath again and manage to open my eyes a little, I find him frozen, a strange expression on his handsome features: a mix of pride, longing, fear, nervousness, love … Yes, that, too.

The fear and nervousness melt away slightly as I my features slide into a smile.

"You ok?" he asks, his voice trembling.

"Yes."

"Uhm, you … did you just …?" he hesitates, unable to finish. I know what he's asking anyway and I feel the colour of my skin intensifying.

"Yeah …"

"But I didn't really touch …"

True, he didn't really touch me, only through my panties. And he made me … without even seriously touching me. God, this is embarrassing. But the hesitation and confusion in his features makes me answer despite my own nervousness and embarrassment. If I have to say it, let's make it cheeky ...

"Well, it either shows how much I wanted it or how good you are, considering your experience." He stares, eyes wide and unbelieving. I smirk a little and continue: "I'd say a bit of both."

He manages a half-hearted smile: "Yeah?" Then he hesitates as if he wants to add something but doesn't dare.

"Yup," I confirm, still smiling. It seems to give him the courage he lacks.

"So you're not mad … that I … touched you?" he finishes with a barely audible whisper, his eyes downcast, if in fear or shame or something else entirely, I'm not sure.

After all the insults and the mallets and everything, I'm not surprised he feels a little unsettled. It's up to me to reassure him (and to continue this nice, nice evening in the right way, I guess).

And since neither of us is really good at expressing our feelings with words (though he did say it – _he said he loves me!_) I try the way I've learned today: I kiss him with all my love, all my passion and hope he understands.

And boy, he does. In an instant I'm in his embrace again, his hands everywhere, his lips on mine. I feel an exhilaration I've never experienced and my love for him expands in my chest to the point of almost hurting.

He grabs my hips again, pulling me toward himself again and I'm instantly reminded that if I have … ahem … relieved my … tension, he definitely hasn't. Now the question is: do I dare?

I don't want to think about it. Act first, think later – that's what Ranma always does, right? His kisses are ever more intense and I'm aflame in his arms where my bare skin touches his bare chest. I want to feel the smoothness of his skin and the strength of his muscles again. My hands start roaming and reach the point where they've lost focus earlier. His waistband. The drawstrings are undone and I start toying with the skin right under the hem. His abdominal muscles tense but his kisses or his hands never stop. Neither do mine, for that matter. I can't seem to stop once I've started. I _want _to touch him, I _want_ to bring him the same pleasure he brought me. So I move lower, past the elastic of his boxers and finally I'm touching him. My mind is flooded with the memory of his body on that first day. I can't see him now, I don't have the guts to yank his clothes out of the way (and anyway, we're in a public place, so it's definitely out of the question), but the memory of him is crystal clear. Except for the fact that now he's hard as a rock. And twitching.

"A- …Akane …," he says raggedly lifting his head to look at me, his breath coming out in short gasps. "You don't … have to …" he tries to tell me.

"I want to," I say calmly as I slide my fingers along him. Silky, delicate skin pulled tight over a hard core, I find it pleasurable to pleasure him. So I stroke him as it comes, no technique (I haven't had any practice just yet), no clue to what would really feel good, yet somehow he seems to like it, to enjoy it, so much that he stops all ministrations to my body and just leans on the tree trunk behind, panting, whispering my name, trying to keep his eyes open to look at me. I lower his pants and boxers as much as I can and here he is, before my eyes. I must be blushing ten shades of red, but I don't stop caressing him, on the contrary, I speed up to match the tempo of his thrusts in my hand. When it seems that this can't go on much longer I look up into his eyes and whisper: "I love you, too."

It's his time to explode. Literally. All over my hands, my stomach, my breasts (which I haven't bothered to cover yet). And a part of me screams 'eeeewww' while the rest of me smiles in a self-satisfied manner. As he comes down from his high, he gazes at me with such love and awe and gratefulness and tenderness that I find myself wondering how I could have ever doubted his feelings for me. He tries to pull me in a fierce embrace but I stop him.

"Wait! Napkins first!"

* * *

Now we're dressed properly again, and I'm resting on him back to front again as we listen to the concert coming to its end. Only we're not positioned quite in the same way as earlier. My head is tucked beneath his chin (and I feel him nuzzling my hear from time to time), my back pressed tightly to his chest, his arms around me so tightly as if to prevent me to escape - no that I would dream about it - and his legs pressed to my sides. It feels almost like we've been moulded to fit one another, it's almost difficult tell where I end and he begins. I sigh as the last song finishes in a loud applause. I guess it's time to go home.

We get up without words, gather our things and head home. Hand in hand. And for the first time I don't mind if somebody sees us. Neither does he, it seems, because suddenly he releases my hand only to put his arm across my shoulders and pull me to his side. I could swear his cheeks are pink, but it's difficult to tell in the dark streets of Nerima. I look up and smile, he smiles back. I slide my own arm around his back.

"You know," he says, "for once in his life, Principal Kuno did a decent thing. This whole thing in the park wasn't such a bad idea, after all."

"Gee, you think?" I tease.

"Yeah. Don't you?" he panics a little almost removing his arm from my shoulders. Now, we can't have that, can we.

"Of course I do, baka." And I turn completely toward him, stopping his stride and kiss him firmly on the lips. For three seconds. Then I run away toward home.

"The last one home cleans the dojo for a week!"

"Hey!"

And we're running merrily through the empty streets. Alone. Together. More together than we've ever been. And a block of ice that has been lodged in my ribs approximately at the height of my heart melts away just like that. As he finally reaches me, his hands grab me and lift me bride-style, carrying me and laughing with me, I realize that I'm truly not alone any more.

Well, what do you know. That concert in the park really was something else …

END

* * *

That's it. No more sequels this time. I tried to keep the mood light and humorous as well as romantic and passionate. How did I do?

If you liked it, or if you didn't, feel free to tell me in a review! Thanks!


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